


A Little Bit Sweeter

by Mireille



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, Dubious Consent, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-05-14 02:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19264537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Sometimes, all the options are bad ones. Like having to do the one thing Tony swore he wasnevergoing to do, in order to save Peter's life.And sometimes, maybe, everything works out in the end.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Peter is 17 in this fic: underage by AO3 standards, but legal in the state of New York. If that's a problem for you, walk on by.
> 
> Dedicated, as always, to S.
> 
> New chapters will go up on Tuesday. The fic is completely written and 99% edited (except a final proofreading when I post), so I should be able to keep a schedule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I've been gone for a while. I hadn't realized! (I've been writing and posting a lot, just on my main account and not this sock.)

****

"I have a problem, Mr. Stark."

Tony had been on his feet, his armor forming around him, the instant Friday had told him that someone was on the balcony. Even though he'd come down from his internal red alert once he'd seen the familiar red and blue of Peter's suit, the surge of adrenaline still left his heart pounding. 

Though that might not have been from the momentary fear of an imminent attack, at least not entirely. 

Peter wasn't supposed to be here. The only reason Peter even knew where Tony's Manhattan apartment was, now that the tower had been sold, was that Peter had gotten hurt once when Tony had been out with him on patrol. He'd been afraid that his aunt would freak out when she saw the blood on him, so even though Peter had already healed up--it had really just been a scratch to begin with, even though it had bled a lot--Tony had brought him here to clean up. 

But under normal circumstances, Peter should never be here. Tony didn't want to be able to picture Peter in his apartment; that was one of the lines he tried not to let himself cross. 

Failed, but tried. 

Peter stumbling through the sliding door from the balcony--Friday had unlocked it as soon as she'd identified him--announcing that he had a problem? That was the kind of thing that Tony didn't want to think about. 

Despite his best efforts, Tony _had_ thought about this before: Peter swinging up to his balcony, asking Tony for help and advice, the kind of advice an awkward teenager might turn to an older, more experienced friend for. Tony being patient, not laughing at Peter's innocent blushes. Peter finally confessing why he suddenly needed to know how to seduce someone, then the advice turning into practical demonstrations. 

The frequency with which Tony thought about hypothetical situations like that was currently his least favorite thing about himself. He took a lot of cold showers and drank way too much at night to keep himself from thinking about them. He was a lot of things, and now more than ever, most of them weren't good, but he wasn't the kind of man who took advantage of an innocent seventeen-year-old. 

He hoped.

But Peter was here now in spite of Tony's best intentions, pulling off his mask as he closed the balcony door behind him. "Something's really wrong," he went on. "I feel like I'm sick, but I don't get sick any more, so..." 

He looked like he was sick, too: his face was pale except for two red splotches on his cheeks; his skin looked clammy; his hair was damp with sweat. That was enough to make Tony forget about all the reasons Peter shouldn't be here, because Peter needed his help, and that was one of the few things Tony was allowed to give him. 

"Here, come sit down," he said, slinging an arm around Peter's waist and steering him to the couch. Peter must have been feeling even sicker than he looked, because he leaned heavily against Tony. Tony was going to remember the way that felt for a very long time. "I'm going to grab you some water, then you can tell me all about it." 

Peter whimpered a little when Tony helped him to sit down, but there wasn't much Tony could have done differently, so he just muttered, "Sorry." He went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, then leaned against the counter for a moment, taking deep breaths. 

He was allowed to worry about Peter, dammit. He was Peter's mentor. He was Peter's friend. And Peter was obviously ill, even though that shouldn't have been possible; worrying about him was a reasonable reaction that had nothing to do with all the shameful fantasies Tony had been carrying around with him for--Jesus, for way too long.

When he came back into the living room, Peter had slumped back against the couch, his eyes closed. 

"Hey, Pete," Tony said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hey, c'mon, look at me." 

Peter opened his eyes. They were a little glassy, but Peter seemed to be focusing on him okay. That was a good sign, right? 

"Drink this," he said, handing over the bottle. 

Peter unscrewed the cap and gulped down half of the water before rolling the cold bottle over his flushed cheeks. "Why's it so hot in here?" 

"Friday, what's the temperature setting?" 

"Seventy degrees Fahrenheit," she reported. 

"Let's make it sixty-five for now, and bring it down quickly." Anything that might make Peter more comfortable while they figured out what was going on. "There, that should help a little."

He sat down at the other end of the couch. "Now, what happened? Did this just come out of the blue, or has it been gradual?" 

"I don't know," Peter said. "I think it might have something to do with these weird plants I found?" 

"What weird plants? Where were they?"

Peter was still pale and sweating; now his breathing seemed to have changed, too, faster and shallower than it should have been. He slid over on the couch to sit right next to Tony, not quite touching, but close enough that they might as well have been. 

Tony decided not to protest. Peter was young and scared and sick; it was perfectly reasonable to let him come to an adult he trusted for comfort. Anyone would have allowed this much closeness. Even Rhodey and Happy--both of whom had dropped a few words about boundaries, and how Tony ought to set a few more of them where Peter was concerned--would have agreed with him on this, he was sure. 

Mostly sure.

Sure enough, anyway.

"This guy robbed a hardware store in my neighborhood," he said. "He didn't steal much--some fertilizer and some garden tools, not even any money. But I went after him. He had a pretty good head start on me, so he got up to a rooftop before I could catch him. There was a greenhouse up there? You know the kind some people set up on roofs so they can have a better garden?"

Tony nodded. "I know what you're talking about." 

"He was unlocking the door of the greenhouse when I caught him, so after the police took him away, I figured I should check it out. I was expecting to find pot," he explained. "That was the only thing I could think of that a crook would be growing in a locked greenhouse. That or he was just really desperate to get a nice crop of tomatoes this year."

"How do you even know what a marijuana plant looks like?" Tony teased, hoping it would help relieve the anxiety he heard in Peter's voice. "You know May's going to blame me if you get in trouble." 

"It wouldn't even work on me," Peter said. "At least, the one time Ned and I tried drinking, I didn't get drunk and Ned did, so I bet it wouldn't. And I know what it looks like because one, we studied it in health class, and two, I know how to use the internet. I also know what tomatoes look like--want to ask me how I know that, too?"

Tony chuckled. "Because you're a good boy and eat your vegetables?" 

Peter rolled his eyes and went on. "But it wasn't either of those. It was a bunch of weird cactus plants. They had purple flowers; they looked kind of like a--is prickly pear the one I'm thinking of?" 

"I have no idea what you're thinking of, Charlotte's Web." He had no idea why Peter had curled closer to him, either, his head resting on Tony's shoulder, his knees drawn up close to his chest. He should make Peter move, but the kid was shivering, and pushing him away right now would be pretty much the same thing as admitting that Tony's feelings toward Peter were in no way harmless or innocent. If they had been, he wouldn't think twice about comforting Peter this way. 

"I have pictures on my phone," Peter said, getting it out and pulling them up. 

"Good thinking," Tony said, as Peter flipped through them. "I don't recognize them, but I've never been that into botany. Send them to my phone and we'll have Friday take a look. Did you have Karen do that already?" 

"No," Peter admitted, tapping his phone screen. "Sorry. I was going to, but then I started feeling really weird, and all I could think was that I needed to find you." 

"Okay," Tony said. "That's fine. Friday's got access to more databases than Karen does, anyway." He received the pictures on his phone and uploaded them to his personal server. "Friday, identify these plants, okay?" 

"Working on it, boss," she replied. "It might take a few minutes. The pictures aren't that clear."

"Yeah," Peter said, "the light was weird in the greenhouse, sorry." 

"No problem," Tony insisted. "She'll find a match. It'll just take a little longer, that's all." Then he said, "So you opened the door, saw the cactus plants, took a few pictures, and started feeling sick? Is that how it happened?"

"Not quite. I opened the door and saw the plants, and then one of them... I swear it hissed at me. And it spit some yellow glop onto my face--well, my mask. Then I checked the place out--there wasn't anything else in there except for, like, a trowel and one of those little rakes, and a watering can, you know, gardening stuff--and took some pictures. And some time in there, I started feeling really hot. I thought it was just because I was in the greenhouse, but it wasn't any better when I got outside, even though it's kind of cold out there today." 

Peter turned his head a little and rubbed his cheek against Tony's shirt. Tony was _not_ going to use the word "nuzzling," and he was going to have to call a halt to this. Comfort was one thing, but this was getting a little bit weird. At the very least, it was feeding into all of Tony's worst fantasies about Peter. 

"I was going to just keep patrolling, but I started feeling really bad, and I thought you'd know what to do to fix it. So I came here."

It sounded like some kind of allergy, maybe. If Peter's immune system had been strengthened by that spider bite to the point that his body wiped out pathogens before they could cause trouble, maybe it was also ramped up enough that any allergic reaction would be extra strong. 

"You said the stuff from the plant got on your mask?" Peter nodded, and Tony nudged Peter away so that he could stand up. Peter muttered a protest, but curled himself into a ball on the couch.

A plant hissing and spitting at an intruder didn't sound like a normal cactus. Tony decided it was better not to take chances. He concentrated briefly until his right hand was covered with a gauntlet that extended almost to his elbow. "Okay, Friday," he said. "I'm getting you a sample for analysis." 

He picked up Peter's mask with his gauntleted hand and turned it around until he found the splatter of sticky yellow gunk, then placed his index finger in the middle of the goo. "Let me know when you've got the reading," he said. 

Friday was silent for a few seconds, and then said, "Got it. Do you want me to prioritize matching those photographs, or analyzing this?" 

"The analysis, I think," Tony said, "but keep the image search running in the background." He carried the mask into the kitchen, making sure to pick it up with his armored hand, and dropped it in the sink before turning on the water. He rinsed the mask clean, then his gauntlet. When he was satisfied that he'd removed all traces of the yellow stuff, he left the mask in the sink and dissolved his armor. 

He'd just made it back to the living room when Friday spoke up. "I've got some preliminary data, if you want it, boss." 

"Yeah, lay it on us." Tony sat down--again, at the end of the couch farthest from Peter. At least nobody was going to be able to say that he pushed Peter for more physical contact than Peter was comfortable with. 

"The substance is, or more properly contains, pollen, suspended in a viscous fluid," the AI said. "I don't yet know what species of plant the pollen is from; it doesn't match anything in my normal databases."

"Check SHIELD and Damage Control first," Tony said. "If it's some kind of weird alien cactus, they'd be the most likely sources of information." 

"Pollen?" Peter repeated. "Pollen's not goopy, though?" 

Tony shrugged. "Maybe it's to make it stick to animals and insects that pass by, to spread it around to other plants? Like what bees do here. But since that's more thought than I've given to pollination before in my life, it's only a wild guess." He looked over at Peter, who seemed to have gotten even paler. "How are you doing, kid?"

"Not good," Peter said. "It's so hot in here, and my skin feels like it's tingling. I've never been allergic to anything before, but maybe if it's alien, it makes sense for it to be irritating to humans?"

"Not a bad working theory." He really wasn't happy with the way Peter was looking, though. "Are you in pain?"

"No, just the buzzy thing under my skin. Why?"

"You're curled up like your stomach hurts." 

Peter shook his head quickly. "No, I'm, I'm good. No pain. Just, you know, kind of quietly freaking out." 

"Friday, can you get Karen to send you Peter's vitals every five minutes or so? And alert me if anything hits a dangerous level." 

Peter looked at him wide-eyed as Friday confirmed the instructions. "You think it's that serious?"

"No idea," he admitted. "But I'll feel better if our girls are keeping an eye on you." 

"Can I come back over there?" Peter said. "I'll--it feels better when I'm closer to you. Easier to stay calm, I guess?" 

No, Tony thought. No, that was absolutely not something he should allow to happen, because Peter was _seventeen years old._

Christ, he was a terrible person. Not that that came as any real surprise to Tony, but sometimes he let himself forget the depths to which he was apparently willing to sink. But then he'd spend an afternoon with Peter, an afternoon in which his imagination tried to spin everything, no matter how innocent, into the idea that Peter might possibly want the same thing Tony did, and he was reminded again. 

But he hadn't touched Peter. Not in any way that wasn't completely reasonable and decent and harmless. He'd never done that, and if he'd managed to resist for almost two years now, he could do it forever. 

Probably.

And if Peter needed him to be comforting and paternal right now, then comforting and paternal was what Peter was going to get. "Sure thing." He stretched his arm out along the back of the couch, to make a space for Peter to slide next to him.

Peter rested his head on Tony's shoulder again, and Tony fought the urge to pet Peter's hair and tell him everything was going to be okay. "Maybe we should see about getting you home," he offered. "Let May take care of you?" 

"No, I need to stay here," Peter said emphatically. Then, in a calmer tone, "We don't know for sure that it's an allergy. If it's some kind of alien disease or something, we can't risk spreading it any further. I shouldn't have even come to you, but..." He shrugged. "I need help." 

Tony sighed. So much for being able to hand this responsibility over to Peter's aunt. "You're probably right," he said. "Anything yet on that analysis, Friday?"

"Analysis forty-one percent complete. Database searches sixty-two percent complete. Both will go faster if you don't keep asking me if I'm done." 

"What did I ever do to get saddled with a _second_ snippy AI?" Tony muttered. 

"Programmed them that way?" The tone of Peter's answer was reassuring; the way his hand was resting against Tony's chest, tracing idle patterns on the fabric of Tony's shirt, less so.

"Oh, fine, hold _that_ against me." Tony looked down at Peter's hand, trying to figure out if he should say something about it, and if so, what. He probably should, he decided, because what he wanted was for Peter to keep going, and he knew that was wrong. Anything he wanted Peter to do to him, with him, was automatically a bad decision. He understood that.

"You'll be okay," he went on. "Friday will figure out what's wrong, we'll get you some Benadryl or whatever you need, everything's going to be fine." He reached for Peter's hand, moving it back to rest on Peter's own leg. 

"You promise?" Peter clutched at his hand--the action of a frightened kid, Tony told himself, except that Peter's thumb was stroking across his palm, and that didn't feel like fear, or much like Peter was a kid, either. It felt like the prelude to everything Tony wished he didn't want from Peter.

"Nothing to worry about," he said, firmly. "Now, tell me how that chemistry project you emailed me about is going? It's due next week, isn't it?" 

Peter looked up. "Yeah," he said. "It's going pretty well, but Ned and I can't decide what we want to do with our presentation--"

Once Peter started explaining their options, Tony took the opportunity to pull his hand away. He was listening--he never found it difficult to pay attention to Peter--but more than half his brain was occupied with categorizing Peter's symptoms. The fever, the clammy skin, the rapid breathing. The way Peter kept trailing off, staring at Tony for a moment before shaking his head slightly and going on. 

"I've got those results," Friday interrupted after a few minutes, "but you're not going to like them." 

"Summarize them for--Peter, what are you doing?" He knew what Peter was doing. Peter had moved his hand from resting on his own knee to resting on Tony's, and was now sliding it slowly upward. He just couldn't think of a single good explanation as to why. 

"It feels better when I'm touching you," Peter said, his voice a little thick, almost as if he'd been drinking. 

"Summary, _now_ ," Tony growled at Friday, because whatever the hell this was, that it wasn't any kind of normal allergic reaction, and Tony needed to know what was going on and how they could stop it. 

"I found a match in one of the databases of classified SHIELD information," Friday reported. 

"And?"

"The plant is of alien origin," she began. 

Tony half-listened to the background information Friday gave him.

"--similarities to plants in the genus _Opuntia_ \--" 

If there were alien plants in a greenhouse in Queens, this was probably something Damage Control should be looking into, but right now, he just wanted to know what was going on with Peter. 

"--viscous fluid used to adhere pollen to passing animals and spread it to distant plants--"

"Hey," Tony said to Peter, who had worked his hand all the way up to the top of Tony's thigh, "I was right, that sticky stuff is to get animals to transport the pollen." 

"--strong aphrodisiac properties." 

"What? Give me that last part again, Friday." 

"The fluid in which the pollen is transported has been discovered to have strong aphrodisiac properties in mammals who come into contact with it."

What the _fuck_.

Tony moved Peter's hand away before it could continue any further in its journey. "Just rest here, okay?" he said, in what he hoped was a comforting tone. He wasn't particularly good at those. "I'm going to get my glasses; the HUD is better there than projected from my phone, and I want to look at some of the details of the analysis." 

He expected Peter to protest at the exclusion, to insist that he should be part of the process, but instead, all Peter complained about was Tony pulling away from him. "Don't go, Mr. Stark," he said. "I mean it, it doesn't feel as bad if I'm touching you." 

"I'll be right back," Tony said, scrambling away. He wanted to hear this without Peter present, and he didn't trust Peter not to follow him, not right now. His glasses were on the table by the front door; he put them on and stayed on that side of the room. 

"Okay, Friday, say that again, and quietly. _Aphrodisiac properties_?" 

"I'm putting the SHIELD file up for you," Friday said, and then his vision was filled with it: chemical analyses, photographs, field reports. Tony skimmed through a couple of the reports, keeping a watchful eye on Peter, who, at the moment, was staying put. That was worrisome in itself, even if it did make things easier for Tony; Peter should have been over here demanding that Tony explain what was going on. 

The field reports were enlightening. Partly because Tony hadn't realized there were that many euphemistic ways to say "and then our field agents fucked like bunnies," and partly because how the hell did this stuff get to Earth in the first place, and how did some small-time crook in Queens get his hands on it? 

But Friday was right: apparently, the sap, or whatever it was (he was trying hard not to refer to it, even in his own head, as "cactus come"), carrying the pollen had intense aphrodisiac properties when it came into contact with skin, and the fabric of Peter's suit must have been permeable enough to let it in. 

SHIELD had done some research of their own several years back, but their lab tests weren't all that promising. The only thing they'd found to neutralize the compound had been giving in to it--the aforementioned rabbit imitation--and when they'd tested it on rodents and kept them in isolation, the rats had died of massive organ failure. 

Shit. "Okay, Friday," Tony said. "SHIELD had to be working on an antidote, right?" 

"Their research was abandoned--" 

Shit. Shit, shit, _shit._ "Yeah, but start there. We've got to find some way to cure this."

"The files indicate that there is a simple and effective remedy, and the limited degree of exposure in this case suggests that a single encounter should be enough to neutralize the effects." Friday said, because apparently Tony needed to add a "basic human ethics" module to his AI. Specifically, a _we don't fuck teenagers_ policy. 

And he didn't want to expose Peter to anyone else like this. Peter was already sounding pretty out of it; what if he blurted out that he was Spider-Man? There weren't many people who knew his secret, and as far as Tony knew, the only remotely appropriate possibility was Peter's friend Ned. Hell, Tony wasn't even the _most_ terrible choice on that list. 

Tony might have told Peter to call Ned, except that Peter had already told him, as part of the story about their chemistry presentation, that Ned was out of town for the weekend, visiting relatives in Connecticut. That wasn't a viable option, even if Tony felt okay telling Peter to call his best friend and tell him that his life depended on them having sex.

Which, it had to be said, Tony really did not feel okay about. Hey, look, some remnants of a functioning moral code. What a surprise. 

And that meant that he needed Friday to find a solution. He needed to get into the lab and start working on it himself, but Friday could at least start going through all the SHIELD research, keep him from going down any dead ends. 

Before he could get to work on the problem himself, he had to find someplace safe to keep Peter while Tony worked, because he wasn't in any condition to be in the lab. 

Tony came back over to Peter, reaching out a hand to pull Peter to his feet. "First things first, we need to get that stuff off you. Come on." He'd already rinsed Peter's mask--he'd do more to decontaminate it later--but clearly the pollen had gotten through the mask to Peter's skin. 

Peter let himself be pulled up, then wrapped his arms around Tony's neck, pressing himself against Tony's body. 

Oh. _That_ was why Peter had kept himself curled up on the couch; he'd been trying to hide the erection that was probably clearly visible through his skin-tight suit. It was obvious now without looking; Tony was having difficulty thinking about anything but the feel of it against his leg. 

"I know the pollen hit you in the face," he said. "Did it get you anywhere else?" 

Peter shook his head. "I don't think so," he said. "Why?"

"We need to wash it off," he said. Attempts to disentangle himself from Peter just made Peter press himself more firmly against Tony, so he gave up. And as long as he kept his arms around Peter, Peter was willing to let himself be steered down the hall to the bathroom. 

"Peter?" Tony said, turning the taps on. Once he was sure Peter was paying attention, Tony handed him a facecloth. "Wash your face and your hands. A couple of times, just to be sure. We need to make sure you get every trace of that stuff off you." 

"No problem," Peter said, sounding so much like himself that Tony could almost believe that this was going to be okay. "And then can we go back to the couch?" 

"We'll see," Tony said, because at least that wasn't completely a lie. He waited by the door while Peter washed himself off. 

"All done," Peter said, coming back to Tony, standing much too close. Hell, if he got any closer he was going to discover that Tony's own body hadn't quite calmed down from having Peter practically wrapped around him earlier, and Tony wasn't going to let that happen. "So, couch now? Or your room. I'm sick, Mr. Stark, want to put me to bed?" 

Aphrodisiac, Tony reminded himself. Peter wasn't in control of his actions. Peter wasn't in control at all, and that meant Tony had to be. "Come back out to the living room," he said. 

Peter actually pouted at him, but he followed Tony out. 

"I've got a lot of SHIELD's data dumped on a server," Tony said as they walked down the hall. "I might've hacked into their system a few times, back in the day. And they'd run into this plant before. We were right; it's alien." 

"Okay, and?" Peter sounded distracted, more interested in trying to run his hand over Tony's chest than anything Tony was saying. 

"And there's a compound in the sap that's making you act like this." Tony caught Peter's hand, pulled it away from him, trying not to reveal how reluctant he was to do the right thing. 

"Making me feel weird? Because I do. But it gets better when I touch you," Peter said, yet again. "Why won't you let me touch you?"

"That's the plant. You're drugged. You don't want to be doing any of this; it's the plant that's making you think you do." He stepped away. "Come on and sit down." 

Peter started toward the couch, so Tony sat down in a chair, outside of touching distance. All that did was provoke Peter into coming to sit on the floor at Tony's feet, his cheek resting against Tony's knee and his hand rubbing Tony's thigh again.

Tony reluctantly pushed Peter's hand away; Peter's response was a frustrated whine. "But I do want to do this," he insisted. "Just... let me touch you, please?" 

Tony took a deep breath. "I can't," he said, "and when you're feeling better, you'll understand why. Until then, you've just got to trust me, okay? You'll be safe here, and then I'm going to find something to counteract what the sap is doing to you." 

"I'm safe with you," Peter said, and Tony actually laughed. 

"You have no idea how wrong you are." He got up, pulling away from Peter; he was going to do the right thing if it killed him. He could replay this later, at night when he was alone, he promised himself, and take things in any direction he wanted, but right now, in the real world, he wasn't going to touch Peter, or let Peter do something he'd regret.

"Friday," Peter said, "why does it feel better if I touch Mr. Stark?" He stood up too, not letting Tony widen the space between them. 

Dammit, he should have told Friday not to answer Peter's questions. "The only known countermeasure for the effects of the sap is sexual intercourse," she said. 

"Shut up, Friday." 

She ignored him. He was really going to have to stop trying to let his AIs develop free will. "More data is required to confirm, but hypothesis is that lesser degrees of intimate contact provide a temporary diminishing of symptoms." 

"What happens if I don't--" Peter looked down at the floor. "What happens if I don't take the appropriate countermeasure?" 

"In SHIELD testing, one hundred percent fatality rate," Friday said. 

"Why the fuck would you tell him that?" Tony demanded. 

"Your directive, boss." She played back a sound clip from the first day he'd brought Peter into the lab, his own voice saying, "Friday, this is Peter Parker. If he's got questions, answer them unless the information is flagged as restricted."

"Oh, great, so it's my fault," he muttered. 

"No, I needed to know that," Peter protested. He leaned against Tony again, and Tony had to fight the urge to groan. He backed away, but Peter followed him until Tony's back was against the wall. 

"Please stop trying to get away from me," Peter said, and in one tiny corner of Tony's brain, he was impressed at how accurate his fantasies had been at depicting the sound of Peter's sex-voice, breathy and hoarse and almost dripping with need. " _Please_. I need to touch you, you know I do." 

"It's going to be okay, Pete," Tony said, trying to sound cheerful and confident. Under his breath, he hissed at Friday to hurry the fuck up, not that it would do any good. Friday would finish analyzing the data from SHIELD as fast as she could, and no faster. "I won't let anything happen to you. We're going to find a solution to this, I swear. Friday's on it." 

"We already have a solution to this," he all but snarled. "You know how to fix me, and it's easy, but you won't." His voice broke, and he sounded very young when he spoke again, young and scared and angry. "And that means I'm going to die." 

"Look at me," Tony said, and once Peter met his eyes, said firmly, "Nobody is going to die. Friday's picking up where SHIELD left off. We're going to find a cure."

"I thought it was just because I was, because I'm so young, but no, you just don't want me, you'd rather let me die than have to touch me."

"No, kid," Tony said, and how could doing the right thing have backfired so badly on him? He'd been trying for almost two years to _not_ want Peter, trying and failing; the only thing he'd succeeded at so far was not giving in to the urge to touch Peter, and now it seemed like that was wrong, too. "I don't want to let you die. But you don't want this, not really. It's those plants. They're making you feel this way, and we're going to take care of it." 

"Yes," Peter said decisively. "We are." 

Tony almost sighed with relief; he'd managed to get through to Peter. "Great. Just sit down, and we'll--"

He didn't really know how he was going to finish that sentence, but it didn't matter, because the next thing he knew, Peter had knocked him flat on his back and had loops of webbing around Tony's wrists and ankles. 

God damn it, he shouldn't have let his guard down, should have reminded himself that it wasn't really Peter in control. Peter in his right mind wouldn't be doing this, but Peter hadn't been in his right mind since he got hit with that sap, and Tony shouldn't have relaxed for a single instant. 

"It's going to be okay, Mr. Stark," Peter said, parroting Tony's words back to him as he hoisted Tony up over his shoulder. "I'm just going to get us somewhere a little more comfortable." 

Tony didn't even try to fight him. Peter was so much stronger than Tony was without the armor, and Tony didn't want to produce the armor and potentially hurt Peter. Besides, he was starting to be afraid that they didn't have time to find anything better. 

No, that was bullshit. He was afraid for Peter, of course he was afraid for Peter, but he kept hearing the betrayal in Peter's voice when he said, "You'd rather let me die than have to touch me," and he couldn't let Peter believe that for another minute. 

Tony did his best not to look at Peter's ass, still encased in that form-fitting suit--what had he been thinking when he designed that?--as Peter carried him down the hall and into the bedroom. 

"I used one of the fast-dissolving web types," Peter said as he dumped Tony in the middle of the bed. "You'll be free in a few minutes." 

And Tony could play along for a little while, both to try to keep Peter calm and to reassure Peter that Tony had no intention of letting him die. 

"Friday, I need an answer," he muttered under his breath. Peter was looking even worse than he had a few minutes ago, his eyes fever-bright, with dark shadows underneath them. Something had to happen soon. 

"It's not good news," Friday said. "I've finished going through the records. SHIELD scientists were unable to develop an antidote other than sexual intercourse. Starting from their findings, estimated time to development of an effective treatment is roughly ninety-six hours." 

It had been maybe an hour since exposure, two at the outside if Peter hadn't come straight here. Peter was already in bad shape. They didn't have four days. 

Friday's next sentence confirmed what Tony had already figured out. "Estimated duration before the pollen's effects prove fatal: eighteen hours." 

They might have a little more time than that, depending on whether she'd accounted for Peter's enhanced constitution and accelerated healing, but they couldn't have _that_ much more. Definitely not three more days. 

If he just gave in, Peter would survive. He'd probably hate Tony, and Tony would definitely hate himself, but Peter would be alive. 

He took a deep breath. Getting what he'd wanted for the past two years shouldn't have felt this terrible, but he couldn't help it; there was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach when he said, "You're right, this is the best solution. Let's get you taken care of." 

Peter stopped, looked at him with his head cocked to one side. "You won't try to get away? Because I'll web you down if I have to, but I don't want to have to." 

Eighteen hours, he reminded himself. Peter had eighteen hours to live unless Tony helped him. 

He wasn't leaving this room until this was over, because he wasn't letting Peter die. "I promise. I'm going to help you." 

For a moment, Peter's smile was open and happy, like Tony had just promised him extra time in the lab or a sneak peek at one of Tony's private projects. Tony's heart constricted painfully, but he made himself smile back. "It's going to be okay," he said again. "You're going to be just fine." 

Peter nodded. "It has to be like this," he said. "If there was--if we could fix it, I promise, I wouldn't do this to you, but we can't, and I--I don't want to die. I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I know you don't want me, but I just don't want to die." He reached for Tony's belt, unbuckling it with shaking hands. 

Tony tested the webbing--they'd come up with the quick-dissolve webbing as an intellectual exercise more than anything else, but he was glad of it now--and a sharp tug parted the fibers. Another decisive movement, and his ankles were free as well. "Let me do that," he said, undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants. If this had to happen, they might as well get it over with. "And I don't want you to die either. If this is what you need, this is what we're going to do. Just wait one minute." 

Peter didn't argue with him, so Tony said, "Friday, go ahead and start researching that antidote anyway. And cease monitoring until given further instructions. Absolutely no recording, visual or audio." They didn't need any record of this, even if Tony would probably play it again every night for the next year. 

_Especially_ because Tony would probably play it again every night for the next year. 

He intended to get to his feet, wanting to push his slacks and underwear down past his hips, but Peter shoved him back down against the bed. "I told you, you can't go anywhere," he said.

"I was just going to--" he began, but Peter just shook his head, and then what Tony had been going to do was irrelevant, because Peter was pulling down his pants--he didn't stop Tony from lifting his hips to make it easier, but Tony thought he heard the fabric tearing from the combination of impatience and enhanced strength, all the same. 

Peter started to undress himself, though he kept getting distracted, kept leaning down to run a hand roughly over Tony's thigh, or to squeeze Tony's cock, which hadn't gotten the message that this was essentially a nightmare scenario and was clearly enjoying Peter's touch. 

He could hate himself for this later. Right now, he just had to do this, to save Peter. 

Peter wasn't actually wearing anything but underwear under his suit, plain gray boxer-briefs stretched over his erection, a damp patch at the head. Tony caught himself looking, and made himself look away. 

"I'm sorry," Peter murmured, his voice catching. "I'm so sorry, I know you don't want me, but I have to, there's no other way, I just--I _need_ this."

Tony wasn't sure what it said about him--though he knew it was nothing good--that he would much rather be a creepy old man perving on a teenager than be responsible for the way Peter's voice broke when he apologized, but he turned back to look at Peter just as Peter peeled off his underwear. 

"It's okay," Tony said, for the umpteenth time, because he couldn't quite make himself tell Peter the truth: it wasn't okay, it was nothing like okay, but Tony wanted him anyway. 

Not like this, obviously, but wanted him all the same. "Ever done this before?" Tony asked; he didn't think so, but it wasn't the kind of thing he'd ever let himself talk to Peter about. 

Peter shook his head, and Tony took a deep breath. An inexperienced teenage boy, under the influence of an alien aphrodisiac, fucking him. And it was going to have to be dry, too; Tony hadn't replaced the lube the last time he used it up, because the only action he'd been getting lately had been with his right hand. 

This wasn't going to be good. Not that it mattered if it was good; that wasn't the point. The point was that this was going to nullify the effect that plant had on Peter, and as long as Tony didn't get seriously hurt, anything else was just fine. 

Tony tried to sound calm and confident. "That's fine. I'm going to help you, all right? I promise, I'll make sure you get what you need." 

"I believe you," Peter said. "But can we hurry? Please?" 

"Yeah, we can hurry," Tony said. "You know how this works?" Peter got down on his knees, pushing Tony's legs apart so that he could get between them. 

Even in his condition, Peter managed a laugh. "I've seen porn." 

Under any other circumstances, Tony wasn't sure how he'd have reacted to that. Right now, though, he just nodded. "Okay, good. I mean, not super accurate, but at least you have the basic mechanics down. First, can you get a pillow and put it under my hips? It'll make the angle better."

"You're not stalling, are you?" he said suspiciously, but he did what Tony asked. 

"No, kid, I swear. Not much longer now, just one more thing. We don't have any lube, so can you spit on your hand?" Saliva and pre-come weren't really going to be enough, but they'd help, anyway. 

Peter did what Tony asked, and didn't need to be told to then run his hand over his cock, smearing the saliva over it as best he could. 

Tony took a few deep breaths, willing himself to relax. This was going to hurt; there were no two ways about it. But he'd been hurt worse, and for reasons a lot less important than saving Peter's life, so he drew his knees up toward his chest (it wasn't as easy as it should have been; maybe he ought to start doing yoga or something) and nodded. "Okay, we're ready. Just--try to go slow, yeah?" 

His instinct was to hold his breath, but he knew that was just going to make it worse, so Tony kept making himself breathe, deep and slow, as Peter pushed inside him. It hurt like hell, there was no getting around that; from the expression on Peter's face, the dry friction wasn't exactly comfortable on his cock, either, but that didn't dissuade him. 

"I don't want to hurt you," Peter said, already beginning to move inside him, thrusting in deeper long before Tony was ready for it. 

Tony wanted to lie, to tell Peter that it was fine, that Peter wasn't hurting him at all, but then Peter thrust in again, and he had to bite back a cry of pain. "Just do what you need to do. I'll be okay," he tried, instead. And that, at least, was probably true. It hurt, but he'd recover. He'd endure worse if it meant Peter was safe, anyway. 

There was one tiny, tarnished bit of silver lining: he wasn't hard anymore. Peter was going to be able to see this as something Tony had done because Peter's life depended on it, and wouldn't have to suspect that Tony wanted him.

Peter leaned in close, nuzzling at Tony's neck, pressing his face into Tony's skin and breathing in deep, and Tony knew that his mind was going to file that away. He was going to have a lot of new fantasies to hate himself for, even though this was nothing that he should ever want to think about again. 

But then, he never should have thought about it in the first place. 

Peter barely even looked like he was aware of his surroundings now, his eyes glassy and unfocused. He'd stopped speaking, responding to Tony's "Still doing okay?" with a wordless grunt. He was totally focused on driving deep inside Tony, and Tony found himself having to concentrate on not crying out in pain. He tasted blood and realized that he'd bitten his lip. 

It would all be over soon. It had to be over soon. Peter was a teenager; it wasn't like they were known for their sexual stamina. And from Friday's analysis and the SHIELD reports, that would be it; he hadn't been exposed to enough of the stuff to need a second round. Peter's body temperature would drop, his hormone levels would return to normal, and everything would be fine. 

Everything, except that Tony would have had to do the one thing he'd promised himself he was never going to do to Peter, and the fact that there had been no other choice didn't really make it any better. The fact that as bad as this was, he couldn't help but think that under other, less painful, circumstances, this would have been exactly what he wanted? That made it so much worse. 

Tony wasn't sure how long it lasted; all he knew was that Peter thrust into him again, whimpering, before shuddering and coming. He gave into impulse then, wrapping his arms around Peter and clinging tightly to him. "It's okay," he murmured. "You're fine now. You're going to be fine." 

He didn't know about himself. He didn't think he hurt too badly, so it seemed likely that he'd be okay, at least physically. As for everything else--he didn't know. 

But he could hold onto Peter and pretend to be fine, for as long as Peter needed him to. 

That was maybe five minutes, while Tony could feel the fever abating and Peter's breathing returning to normal--and then hitching again, with a hot splash of liquid on Tony's chest telling him why: Peter was crying. 

That was confirmed when Peter pulled back, eyes red, and began to scrabble around on the floor for his discarded clothing. He pulled his underwear on, then picked up his suit. 

"Leave that," Tony said. "You can't put your mask back on until we're sure it's decontaminated. I'll lend you something to wear and send you home in a car, and I'll get your suit back to you as soon as I know it's safe." 

"I'm so sorry," Peter said, for something like the hundredth time. "I--did I hurt you? Do I need to get you to a hospital? I didn't mean to hurt you, but you've got to tell me if I did, so we can get you some help." 

Tony didn't point out that there was no way in hell, even if he thought he needed a hospital, that he was going to let Peter take him to one. Peter hadn't thought that through at all, clearly, but then, Tony reminded himself, the kid was just barely seventeen years old and had just been through an incredibly traumatic experience. Who could expect him to realize that Tony Stark showing up at the ER like this with a seventeen-year-old boy--with this particular kind of injury--would be a disaster?

"I'm fine," he said, sitting up carefully and trying not to groan with the increased pain. "A few bruises," he added, "but nothing that won't heal up soon." He got to his feet, quickly pulling up his pants to hide any visible evidence that he might be hurt a little more than he'd let on to Peter before going to the dresser to find something for Peter to wear. "How about you?" 

Despite the fact that Peter's back was to him, it was impossible for Peter to hide how miserable he looked--the set of his shoulders and the lifeless tone of voice were enough to give it away. "I feel okay again," he said. "Normal. I guess. As normal as I can, probably." 

Tony got a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from the dresser and handed them over to Peter. "Here. Put these on." As Peter took the clothes from him, their hands touched briefly, and Peter nearly dropped them on the floor.

"Sorry," Tony said. "I thought you had them." Not to mention that he'd forgotten that Peter would be disgusted by the simplest touch now.

"It's fine. I'm fine." 

"Friday, resume normal monitoring, and get a car for Peter. _Not_ Happy. Get an Uber." Then he paused. "I want you and Karen to keep monitoring Peter's vitals. Every five minutes for the next hour, then every fifteen minutes for the next five hours, then once an hour for the next twenty-four," he added, then, to Peter, "We need to make sure there's no lasting damage." 

"I'm okay," Peter insisted, but given that Tony had said just that not three minutes ago, and he definitely _wasn't_ okay, Tony wasn't going to believe that without independent confirmation. 

But Peter was all right, at least as all right as he could be under the circumstances. Friday confirmed that: body temperature normal, heart rate normal, respiration normal, just as if he hadn't ever walked into that greenhouse. 

But "as okay as he could be" wasn't very okay at all, really, because as soon as he'd pulled on the borrowed clothing, Peter said, "I guess I should be going, then. I'll wait for the car downstairs. I need to--" He paused for a moment; Tony assumed he was floundering for a good excuse. He apparently decided to go for the truth, though, because when he finally finished the sentence, it was with, "I need to not be here." 

"You and me both, kid," Tony mumbled, but he let Peter go.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from Rufus Wainwright's "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk," which gets played a lot when I'm writing Peter/Tony.


	2. The Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's handling this all _just fine_ , obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far!
> 
>  
> 
> (also, last chapter I forgot to thank nonnieinthechair for giving some feedback on a very early version of part of chapter 1. Don't blame them for anything in this fic--I tore that chapter down to the ground and rebuilt it after that.)

****

It was easy enough to avoid Peter for the next few days. Tony had stayed in Manhattan, even though he had plenty of projects demanding his attention out at the compound, because it made it easier for him to avoid _everyone_ , not just one teenage superhero. He hadn't seen anybody for a few days except for a couple of food deliveries and the driver--again, definitely not Happy--he'd had return Peter's suit to him, in a thumbprint-locked case, once Tony had thoroughly decontaminated it.

He'd had Friday do a full scan on himself to confirm that no serious damage had been done; to his relief, all his injuries were minor. Unpleasant, but minor. But he didn't want anyone to see him wincing when he moved wrong or wasn't careful enough when he sat--Rhodey would crack jokes about that, assuming Tony had just had a wild fling, and Tony wouldn't, _couldn't_ cope with that. 

He definitely didn't want Peter to see him like that, because he didn't want Peter to feel guilty about what had happened. 

It wasn't Peter's fault. The whole reason they worked together was so that Tony could help him, and all he'd done was to get Peter into an intolerable situation. He should have found a better solution, faster. 

The first thing Tony had done when he'd finally left his apartment was to have Friday get him the location of that rooftop and go there in full armor, with hazmat protocols running, to get a sample from those plants, so that he and Friday could develop the antidote just in case this ever happened again, but that didn't count for much. He hadn't found a solution _in time._ He hadn't been able to protect Peter. And this was worse than if Peter had just been injured. Injuries were more or less expected in their line of work, but this was something that shouldn't ever have happened. 

(The second thing Tony had done had been to incinerate the entire greenhouse structure. Better safe than sorry. The third thing he'd done was to have Damage Control come get the bits. Ditto.) 

And not only should this have never happened, but Tony shouldn't keep thinking about it. Or if he had to think about it, if he couldn't stop thinking about it, he should feel terrible. 

He shouldn't have this sense of regret that _that_ was how it had happened, that he didn't get the opportunity to make things good for Peter, because it didn't matter how it had happened: it shouldn't have happened at all. 

And until he could keep that in mind, he needed to just stay well away from Peter. He probably should have been doing that all along, but better late than never, he decided. 

And Peter seemed to agree with him, because he didn't call or text Tony even once the week after he'd come to Tony's apartment. Over the past year or so, they'd fallen into a habit; Tony rarely contacted Peter unless it was something important, but Peter would text Tony or leave him voicemails.

Tony actually listened to the voicemails these days, instead of having Happy do it and text him a summary, because whatever level of insulation that had once provided from the things Tony had been trying not to think about Peter had stopped working a long time ago. Tony would, if he had the time, answer some of the texts. 

Sometimes he even picked up the phone when Peter called. He'd listen to Peter talking about his day at school or what had happened when he was out on patrol, and he'd realize that he was pathetic enough that those calls were some of the brightest spots in his life now.

But for over a week, there was nothing, not even a text to let him know how the chemistry presentation had gone. 

And then, on the second Tuesday after Peter had swung onto his balcony to ask for help, Tony got a text. 

" _Can we just. Idk. Agree that the other day never happened?_ "

Pretending things didn't happen never worked. Tony had tried to avoid enough things over the course of the last forty-odd years to know that. 

But if Peter wanted to try, Tony wasn't going to stop him. And Tony wasn't going to push, because it shouldn't have happened, and Peter should be able to refuse to acknowledge it. His first time shouldn't have been like this--shouldn't have been with Tony at all, but should definitely have not been like that--and if he wanted to refuse to accept it as reality, well. It might not be a healthy attitude, but Tony wasn't exactly an expert at those. 

" _Absolutely_ ," Tony texted back, and found himself smiling, just a little, when Peter gave him a thumbs-up in reply. 

But a couple of hours later, when they met up on a rooftop not that far from May Parker's apartment, Peter sighed. "I guess maybe we have to talk about it, a little bit," he said. "What happened, I mean." 

Tony winced. "Yeah, maybe."

"I wasn't trying to trick you into agreeing to see me," Peter said quickly. "I just--I got here, and I got to thinking, and I think, maybe this one time, we have to--I don't know, say something?"

"Whatever you need to say," Tony said, because after what had happened, what he hadn't been able to protect Peter from, what he couldn't stop thinking about, he owed Peter that much. 

He wasn't sure what he expected--more tears? Recrimination? Anger?--but what he got was, "Are you okay? I know you said you were, but. Um. When I got home, in the shower? There was--Mr. Stark, there was _blood_ ," he said, and even from behind the mask, Peter's horrified expression seemed to come through. 

Tony sighed. "I'm fine. I'm sorry if that scared you, but..." He shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. "Consider it a valuable life lesson on the importance of lube?" 

"Don't joke about it." Peter crossed his arms, looking directly up at Tony. "I was worried that maybe I'd really hurt you, that you should have gone to the hospital. There wasn't a _lot_ of blood, but I didn't know, and I figured you wouldn't want me to check up on you, and I didn't know anyone else who could." 

God. Peter had been worried about _him_ , this whole time? Tony wasn't the victim here. He was just the guy who hadn't been able to do the right thing. 

"I really am fine," Tony said. "I'm not even sore any more." 

"I've been worrying that I'd hurt you. That what I did to you..." 

Tony wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, squeeze it comfortingly. But the last thing Peter was going to want, now or ever, was for Tony to touch him again. "You didn't do anything," he said firmly. "You had no choice, Peter, and so even if you'd hurt me, it wouldn't have been your fault." 

"I guess," Peter said. "But I should have let you try to find another solution. And--" he hesitated, then went on, "I know you wouldn't have just let me die. You might not want, you know, _me_ \--I mean, not like that, God, nobody wants... but at all. But you wouldn't let me die. Not if you could do something about it." 

"No. I wouldn't." That much, at least, was true, even if everything else Peter had said was completely wrong. "I wouldn't have been able to save you in time, though, so you made the right call." 

"Yeah." Peter didn't sound convinced, but he took a deep breath and straightened up. "And so now we can move in to the 'let us never speak of this again' phase, right?" 

In spite of himself, Tony chuckled. "Yeah, let's get right on that." 

An hour later, Tony wasn't sure how that was working out for Peter, but for himself, it was going just as terribly as he'd expected. 

There was the guilt, of course, but every interaction he'd had with Peter since--God, since Berlin--had been tinged with some variety of guilt. He was used to it, was used to trying to wad all of those thoughts and impulses into a tiny ball and shove them down deep, where they couldn't get in the way of what he was supposed to be doing with Peter. Mentoring him, not seducing him, because _he's a kid, goddammit._

But also--Tony didn't know if Peter realized how much he'd given away the other day. _"I thought it was just because I was, because I'm so young, but no, you just don't want me."_

Peter wanted him, or at least, _had_ wanted him--that had probably changed, Tony reminded himself; Peter wouldn't want anything that reminded him of that particular experience. 

Tony had never let himself believe that, before. Tony was far too old for someone Peter's age to be interested, he'd told himself, regardless of what his memory of his own teenage years was telling him. 

Too old to be seriously interested, anyway. Crushes were another thing altogether. Nobody ever expected their crushes to translate into anything real. 

So Tony had convinced himself that every sign of interest from Peter had been just wishful thinking--had been Peter's friendly enthusiasm, twisted in the same way that the worst parts of him wanted to twist their relationship into something it shouldn't ever be allowed to be--and that had made it easier. 

Tony might have a reputation for being able to get anyone he wanted, but he was only human, and he knew how to deal with one-sided attraction. You ignored it, as best you could, and eventually it went away: sometimes gradually, sometimes violently, but it ended. 

But now--now, when he was already hating himself for the number of times he'd re-imagined that day, erasing his own pain and Peter's humiliated tears--he had to start learning how to ignore the voice in his head that said, _See? He wants you. You could have this._

Because he couldn't, not and still look at himself in the mirror; Tony had enough weighing down his conscience already. 

Never talking about what had happened that afternoon, he thought he could manage. Never thinking about it, on the other hand, was a different matter altogether. 

At least their general strategy for when Tony accompanied Peter out on his Spider-Man patrols was helpful; Tony stayed back, observing, ready to provide backup, making notes about things he wanted to fix or improve in the next iteration of the suit. For the most part, Peter had this down; Tony's "backup" was generally aerial recon, and occasionally stepping in when Peter found himself severely outnumbered. 

So Tony could hang back, out of the range where he might be tempted to touch Peter in what would pass for friendly, innocent ways, if he didn't know his own mind. If he didn't know now that Peter wanted-- _had wanted_ \--them to be something else. 

It wasn't like this changed anything, he told himself, because he always watched Peter more intensely than he should have, was always far too appreciative of the way Peter moved in action, his quick mind, even of the smart-ass comments he made as he apprehended petty criminals. 

Except that now he could visualize what Peter looked like beneath the suit--knew Peter was barely wearing anything beneath the suit, which was probably practical, but God, Tony had not needed that information. Now he felt hyper-aware of every move Peter made, which was his imagination, of course, but still damn distracting. Now, when Peter would look up to pinpoint Tony's location--perfectly normal behavior, of course--Tony had to remind himself that it was unlikely that Peter was feeling that same hyper-awareness. He just wanted to be sure his backup was in position.

And when they called it a day, the lack of Peter's usual exuberance reminded Tony that no matter what Peter had said then, spending time with Tony now was going to be awkward at best for him. 

"So, what time should I have Happy pick you up on Friday?" Tony asked without thinking. Peter had been spending at least one weekend a month out at the compound, working with Tony in the lab, ever since May had found out that he was Spider-Man. She didn't necessarily like it--she'd made that clear to Tony--but it was important enough to Peter that she reluctantly allowed it. 

They'd scheduled this a couple of weeks ago, before the incident with the greenhouse, and Tony had been looking forward to it; he always enjoyed these weekends far too much, even though he was scrupulously careful not to behave in a way that would arouse any suspicion with anyone, even Peter. 

But Peter only shook his head. "I'm going to have to take a pass, this time," he said. "Sorry, Mr. Stark, but I have a lot of homework to catch up on, and a big test next Monday. And I promised Ned and MJ that we could--"

Tony interrupted him before Peter could pile yet another excuse on top of the ones he'd already given. It was way too obvious that he was just trying not to have to tell Tony that he didn't feel safe coming to the compound, where for a lot of the time, Tony would be the only other person around, anymore. "That's fine," he said. "Enjoy your weekend."

"Yeah, you too. But we're still on for patrol next week, right? Tuesday again?"

No, Tony wanted to say. No, it'd be better for everyone involved if Tony took a big step back from things, made Spider-Man's suits and tech and otherwise stayed away from him. 

"Sure, kid," he said instead. "Tuesday works for me." 

It didn't--he'd have to blow off a meeting and Pepper was going to be furious--but Peter didn't need to know that.

****

It had taken a month, but things had settled into a new "normal" for them. Peter hadn't mentioned rescheduling his weekend lab time at the compound, and so neither had Tony; that had just dropped off the agenda for the foreseeable future.

In a lot of ways, it was a shame: he got more work done on the Spider-Man tech with Peter there to offer his input. Peter thought they were working on an upgraded version of his current suit, but once he'd gone home for the day, Tony incorporated his ideas into the nanotech version he was planning to surprise Peter with.

Not to mention that the lab time was valuable experience that Peter could use (with judicious editing that Tony would, of course, back up) for his college and scholarship applications; and damn it, they worked well together. Tony missed that. 

But on the other hand, Tony couldn't look at Peter these days without remembering what it felt like to have Peter push him down and fuck him, so overall, he was going to have to say it was a good thing. 

They still went out on patrol together once a week, sometimes even twice, but it was--no, it wasn't awkward, not really. Peter had done a great job of putting things behind him, in Tony's opinion. It was just distant, like it had been over a year ago, when Tony had first started taking a more active role in mentoring Peter. They didn't know each other that well. They were friendly, obviously, but they hadn't been friends. 

That had changed, unsurprisingly, after so much time spent together, but now they'd gone back to those old patterns of interaction, their conversation focused more tightly on what Spider-Man was doing, or had done, or needed to do. 

Peter didn't tell him about the Lego sets he was building with Ned, or the great band MJ had got him to listen to, or where he and May had gone for dinner on her last payday. 

Tony didn't talk about what he was working on in the lab, other than the things that affected Peter directly, or discuss "old" movies with him. (Tony refused to acknowledge that movies made in the eighties were actually old. Older, sure. But _Casablanca_ was old. _Citizen Kane_ was old. _Ben-Hur_ was old. _Top Gun_ was not old. It just wasn't new.)

Strictly business, that was how things were, and Tony couldn't say that wasn't a good idea. 

Well. Tony shouldn't say that was a bad idea, and he wouldn't, not to anyone else. To himself, though...

No. It wasn't a bad idea. It was a very good idea. He just didn't like it, which was a sign that it was what he should be doing.

The easiest way, Tony had found, to keep himself from thinking about how much he didn't like the way things were between him and Peter--to keep himself from thinking about what he did want--was to divide his time between working and drinking himself into oblivion. 

Not that those hadn't both been bad habits of his for much longer than Peter had been alive. But he'd been better lately. 

Not with the lab, but that was necessary work. He didn't drink as much as he used to, though--partly because he was discovering that hangovers hit him harder the older he got, and partly because, well, he didn't have either the time or the desire to party the way he used to.

Nobody was going to mistake him for a teetotaler any time soon, but he'd gotten into a habit where the only times he actually got blackout drunk were when he was too exhausted to work, but the nightmares wouldn't let him sleep.

Until that day when Peter had begged Tony to touch him, and now he was drinking himself to sleep seven days a week. 

Today, he hadn't waited until evening to start drinking, either. He'd woken up early, in the middle of a dream about Peter. He'd woken up hard, and guilty, and then had felt even guiltier when he couldn't keep his mind a blank while he jerked off. Thinking about other people didn't work for him; they always transformed into Peter at some point during the process, but he'd gotten pretty good, over the past year or two, at thinking about nothing at all. 

Not today, though, and Tony had poured himself a drink to blunt the guilt before he'd even gotten into the shower. 

It didn't matter. Pepper could, and generally did, run the company without his input. He might be the prime innovator behind Stark technologies, but there were a lot of highly-paid and brilliant people working under him, and they could manage without him for a few days. Nobody was irreplaceable, not even him. 

And it wasn't like he had much of a team to design tech for any more, either. Rhodey had asked him to _stop_ upgrading the War Machine armor for a while, because Tony had been making changes to it faster than Rhodey could get used to the previous version. There wasn't much he could do for Vision. He'd survive without making much progress on his own armor upgrades for a day. And Peter would probably be grateful that Tony would have less reason to get in touch. 

When he got out of the shower, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to pour himself another drink, and then to spike his coffee. Even Friday's helpful prediction that if he continued at that rate, he was on schedule to give himself alcohol poisoning by mid-afternoon hadn't stopped him. 

He'd eaten a sandwich and made himself drink a bottle of water, because he didn't want to wind up hospitalized or dead, but he hadn't stopped drinking, just slowed down a little.

Not too much, though, because all the things that were bothering him had receded into the distance (oh, great; he hated Pink Floyd, and now he had an endless loop of "Comfortably Numb" in his head. Better make that "all but one of the things that were bothering him." At least prog rock was better than most of the things he'd been unable to stop thinking about.). He didn't want to jeopardize that. 

He just wanted to lie here on the couch, with his glass and the bottle within easy reach--at least he hadn't stooped low enough to start drinking straight from the bottle--and not think about anything much. 

He must have succeeded beyond his hopes, because while he'd have been prepared to swear that he'd been alert the entire time, there was suddenly a hand on his shoulder, shaking him into wakefulness.

"Mr. Stark? Come on, Mr. Stark, wake up, _please!_ "

Tony opened his eyes, blinking blearily to try to clear his vision. But even afterward, the person with his hand on Tony's shoulder still looked like Peter, in his Spider-Man gear but with his mask off. "You shouldn't be here," was all he could think to say. 

"Neither should you. We were supposed to meet up ninety minutes ago, remember?"

Tony frowned. Had he been supposed to patrol with Peter today? That would explain why he'd stayed in the city last night after his meeting, instead of driving back to the compound, but-- "Friday, why didn't you remind me?" 

"Because you told me to stop nagging you about it, boss." He really had to program his next AI to be unable to sound snippy. 

Oh. Yeah. He remembered that. Then he looked at Peter again. "What are you doing here, though? How did you get in?"

"The balcony," he said. "Once I told Friday I was worried about you, she unlocked it for me."

No snippiness, and no letting teenagers in because she thought it was for his own good, Tony thought. Important features if he ever found himself designing a new AI. "Well, as you can see, I'm fine. Thanks for the concern, but you really ought to be going, shouldn't you? Crime isn't going to fight itself." 

There was still some liquor in his glass; Tony reached for it, only to find that Peter grabbed it first and moved it away. "You're _drunk_ ," he said accusingly. 

Tony considered that for a moment. "On the contrary. I'm way too close to sober for comfort. Give me that glass back." He wasn't "sober" by any stretch of the word, but he was awake and capable of having a conversation with Peter, so he was definitely too sober. 

"You didn't show up because you were too busy drinking." 

Carefully, Tony maneuvered himself into a sitting position. "I never claimed to be a great role model." 

"You've never done that before. Not to me." Peter took the bottle off the table and returned it to the bar. He didn't take the glass with him, though, so Tony picked it up and drained it before Peter got back. Maybe that would help. 

"Drinking doesn't help," Peter said, as if he could read Tony's thoughts. But of course, he couldn't; he'd have run screaming if he could, because Tony couldn't stop himself from studying the curve of Peter's lips and the way his hair curled behind his ears. 

Tony shrugged. "It's the only cure for sobriety. And you have no idea what I'm trying to help by drinking, anyway." 

Was he imagining things, or did Peter flinch? 

"I can guess," Peter said. "Because it doesn't matter how many times you tell me that it's okay, does it? It's not okay."

Tony sighed. "No. It's not okay. But it's still not your fault. None of this is your fault," he added. It wasn't very reassuring to see the shrug that was Peter's only reply. 

"Well, if you think I'm going to let you sit there and drink yourself into a coma," Peter said, "you're not as smart as everyone thinks you are."

Tony frowned. "Go home, kid," he said again. "This is a grownup thing." 

"I don't think so. Did you eat today?" 

Hey, for once a question it was easy to answer. "Yes. Friday already nagged me." 

"That was at ten a.m.," Friday chimed in. 

"It's almost six," Peter said, "so whatever you ate, it was nearly eight hours ago. You need food, you need water--or maybe Gatorade?--and you need to _not drink any more today._ " 

"Funny, I don't remember appointing you the boss of me," Tony said, squinting at him until the two blurry Peters frowning down at him resolved into one, still blurry, Peter.

"I know this is because of what I did to you. And I know I can't undo that, but I can try to make sure nothing else bad happens to you because of it." Peter gave Friday some instructions--ordering pizza and Gatorade--and then sat down next to Tony, close enough that his knee brushed against Tony's until he got settled. 

Tony drew his leg back, but the miserable look that crossed Peter's face made him feel even worse than the guilt did, and he made himself relax. 

"It's not because of anything you did," Tony said. He'd just get this out, he promised himself. He'd say what he needed to say, and then he'd get up and get himself another drink. It didn't matter if Peter disapproved. People had been disapproving of his drinking for a lot longer than Peter had even been alive, and it hadn't stopped him yet. 

That was actually a good point. "I've been drinking since before you were born. Maybe instead of thinking of it as your fault, you should just consider yourself lucky that you haven't had to deal with this before now." 

Peter shook his head. "You're going to tell me it's a coincidence, huh? Last month, I go into that greenhouse, and now you hardly ever even look at me, and you're too drunk to help me patrol."

Now, that was funny. "I don't look at you? I want you to go home because I can't seem to do anything _but_ look at you." 

"You're not looking at me now." 

True, he wasn't. But if he looked at Peter, he was going to remember how much he wanted Peter, and Peter was _right there_. He couldn't let himself think about that when Peter was in front of him. 

He decided not to respond directly. "You should stay away from me," he said. "I don't mean now. I mean permanently. I'll keep working on your suit, don't worry about that, but we can't... The lab, going out with you on patrol--it has to stop." Now he did get up, ignoring the way his head was swimming, and go over to the bar. 

"Because of what I did." 

Tony poured his drink and knocked back half of it in one gulp. "No. Because of what I did. And what I wanted to do." He refilled his glass and went back to the couch. 

Peter hadn't said anything yet, though he definitely shot an unhappy look at Tony's glass. "What, um. What did you want to do?" he asked, finally, and Tony laughed. 

"Don't ask questions you don't want to hear the answers to, Itsy Bitsy," he said. "Just take my word for it: you shouldn't want to be alone with me. Not at all, and definitely not here in my apartment like this." 

"You won't hurt me, Mr. Stark," Peter insisted. "I know that. You wouldn't." 

"There's a lot of ways to hurt somebody." He took another drink. "I might not mean to, I might not want to, but if you stick around, I'm going to hurt you." God, he was tired. Maybe he'd be able to sleep after Peter left. Maybe he'd drunk enough that he wouldn't dream. 

"We're going to talk about this in the morning," Peter said. 

"You have school in the morning," he argued. 

"Try again. Tomorrow's Saturday." 

"Friday? Don't let Peter Parker in this apartment again without explicit permission from me." He'd have to modify that again after Peter left, to account for emergencies, but it would make his point. 

"If you say so, boss." He was sure he'd never programmed her to sound that skeptical. 

Peter folded his arms across his chest. "Who says I'm leaving? From where I'm sitting, you're not in any state to be left alone. I mean, I could call Colonel Rhodes to babysit you, but I don't know if I could get him here without explaining everything, and you're not the only one who doesn't want that. We're going to eat pizza, and you're going to get some electrolytes in you, and I'm going to call Aunt May and tell her I'm spending the night with Ned." 

Damn it, he wasn't supposed to be encouraging Peter to be irresponsible. And besides--"This apartment doesn't have a guest room." At least, it had a room that could have been a guest room, but there wasn't a bed in it; Tony had been using it as a small-scale workshop. He hadn't planned on entertaining guests.

"This is a nice couch. I bet it's pretty comfortable." And if part of him had been hoping that Peter had been planning to share his bed with him, another part was relieved to find that Peter hadn't completely taken leave of his senses. 

Tony didn't get the chance to reply immediately; there was a buzz from downstairs, letting them know that the pizza had arrived. He sent Peter into the other room; Peter went without argument, since he was still wearing most of his Spider-Man suit, though that wasn't Tony's only concern. Being seen with a teenage boy alone in his apartment--he might have been able to laugh that off, if only the nasty gossip it might engender hadn't been so close to the truth. 

Apparently, the pizza place had either carried Gatorade, or had been willing to send their delivery guy to pick some up for a price, because there were a couple of bottles included along with the pizza. Tony opened one of the bottles and took a swig; he might be irritated by having Peter fuss over him, but that didn't change the fact that he knew it would make the inevitable hangover at least a little milder. 

Peter came out of the bathroom, dressed in his street clothes; Tony hadn't noticed that he had brought his backpack with him, but it dangled from his left hand now. "I texted my aunt while I was in there. And Ned, so he knows that I was supposed to be with him tonight." 

"You shouldn't lie to your aunt," Tony said. "Eat your pizza, and then you need to go home." 

"And then you'll go back to drinking," Peter said, "and if you choke on your own vomit, I'll blame myself for the rest of my life."

"I can't remember the last time I threw up from drinking too much," Tony argued. "I think it was the nineties. I've got a cast-iron stomach." He set the pizza box down on the coffee table and opened it up. "Come on, if you're going to stick around, you might as well eat," he urged. 

"Only if you do." 

Tony sighed. He didn't feel hungry, but he also didn't feel like getting into an argument with Peter about the pizza, so he took a slice. "Happy now?"

"Don't make fun of me. I was worried about you. I'm still worried about you." Peter took a slice of pizza for himself and began to eat. 

"You need to be worried about you," Tony said. "It's not safe for you to be here."

Peter just made a face at him. "I told you, I know you won't hurt me. Maybe _you_ don't know it, but I do." 

Tony gave up, at least for the time being. Even if Peter slept on his couch--and while good manners might suggest that Tony give Peter the bedroom and take the couch, Tony didn't want to encourage him in any way--Tony could still make sure Friday wouldn't let him in again. He'd put that distance between them whether Peter liked it or not. 

Peter waited until they'd eaten most of the pizza and Tony had drunk one of the quart bottles of Gatorade--though he'd also gotten up and refilled his glass of whiskey right after--before he resumed his argument. "I'm not a dumb little kid," he said. 

"I've never thought you were dumb." 

"You've never thought of me as a little kid, either, have you?" 

That was far too close to the truth. "You are a kid. You're what, fifteen?" Seventeen, and Tony knew that. Seventeen was legal in New York, eighteen was legal basically everywhere, and neither of them made it right, just not a crime. 

"You know better than that, Mr. Stark. And I'm not some naive little boy who has no idea what's going on." He took another bite of pizza, almost emphatically. "So... I don't know. Go sleep this off. I'll be here in the morning. We can talk about it then." 

Going to his room seemed like a good plan, to be honest. There was a door. It locked. He could keep himself away from Peter--keep Peter from invading his personal space, all innocent friendly concern, with no idea what kind of danger he was putting himself in, no matter what he claimed to understand. 

At Peter's urging, he took the Gatorade with him, but he also took the whiskey bottle, to keep the one in his nightstand company. 

He felt a twinge of guilt at the unhappy look Peter gave him when he saw the bottle, but reminded himself that anything that convinced Peter that Tony was best avoided was, at heart, a good thing.

****

Peter's insistence that they were going to talk about things in the morning was no match for Tony's hangover; it was after noon when he finally staggered out of the bedroom in search of coffee.

Peter was still there, though, sitting cross-legged on Tony's couch, looking at his phone. He looked up when Tony came into the living room and grinned. "You look terrible." 

"I feel terrible," Tony confirmed. He was getting too old for this shit. But then, "too old" was at the root of all of his problems lately, wasn't it? 

"You probably deserve it. I made coffee when I heard you moving around," he added. "It may not be very good." 

It might not be. Tony might not care. He just needed something to wake him up and help calm the pounding in his head until the handful of painkillers he'd washed down with the last of the Gatorade kicked in. He went into the kitchen and poured himself a cup, gulping half of it down as quickly as the temperature would allow. 

"You were right," Tony said when he came back out into the living room. "It's not very good. But it's strong, so that's a point in its favor." 

"I wasn't sure how much coffee to use," Peter admitted. "I figured if it was too strong you could cut it with hot water, right?" 

"Or I can just drink it," Tony said. "What did my tooth enamel ever do for me, anyway?" He took another sip. 

"It's probably better with cream and sugar?" Peter suggested, just like he didn't already know Tony's opinion about adulterating something as perfect as coffee. 

"First you make me bad coffee, and now you commit blasphemy in my house?" Tony shook his head--a mistake--and smiled at him. Maybe if he convinced Peter that everything was just fine between them, they could avoid this conversation. 

That didn't seem especially likely, though, especially since Peter didn't even wait for Tony to sit down--in a chair, not on the couch with Peter--to bring it up. "Like I said last night, I'm not stupid. I figured it out. You weren't keeping your distance because you knew I had a crush on you and wanted to discourage me. That's what I thought, but I was wrong, wasn't I?"

There was no point in lying to Peter about this. Not really. Once he knew the truth, he'd want to stay away from Tony anyway, and that was what Tony wanted. "You have to understand," he said, "I'd never have touched you, except--" 

"Except that I didn't give you a choice," Peter concluded. 

"Except that I didn't have a choice," he corrected Peter. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't want to die; how can I blame you for that? I didn't want you to die either." 

"Then why isn't everything okay?" Peter demanded. "I didn't want to die. You didn't want me to die. You wanted me. I wanted you. Neither of us wanted anything like that to happen, but it did, and--you say you don't blame me, but you're doing a really good impression of someone who does."

Tony finished his cup of terrible coffee and thought about spiking it. Not that it would solve any of his problems, but it might help him ignore them for a little while longer. "I don't blame you," he repeated. "It was completely out of your control, and it's not your fault, even slightly." 

If this was anyone's fault, it was his: for not making Peter's mask better at filtering out foreign particles, for not going on patrol with Peter that day, for not being able to find another solution in time. 

"But you're avoiding me." 

Tony snorted. "For damn good reason," he pointed out. "You've just been through a pretty unpleasant experience. The last thing you needed on top of that was to realize that I got--" No, that wasn't accurate. He hadn't gotten off on it, not even involuntarily; but he had gotten off on the memories, afterward. 

"The last thing you needed," he said again, trying another tack, "was to have to deal with the fact that I was--" He paused to choose his words carefully. "Attracted to you, on top of everything else that had happened." 

Peter tilted his head to one side, frowning in thought. "You're making it sound like that would be a bad thing. And again, not dumb, I know what people would think. But that doesn't mean that it actually is a bad thing."

All right, maybe Tony hadn't been blunt enough. "Do you actually understand what I've been saying? You say you do, but I'm starting to doubt it." 

"You want to fuck me," Peter said, sounding absurdly calm. 

Tony wasn't easily shocked, but hearing those words coming from Peter did leave him speechless for a moment. Maybe it was just the impact of having it all out in the open, maybe it was the fact that Peter only rarely swore in front of him--and then it was more likely to be "damn" or "hell" than anything stronger. (And maybe it was that he wanted to hear Peter talk like that, that it was one more thing for him to store away and bring out later, when he was alone and wanted to hate himself.) 

"Do I look like that bothers me?" Peter went on. "Because it really doesn't. Maybe we should have waited until I'm older--"

"We should have waited until _never,_ " Tony corrected him. 

"But it's too late for that now." 

"You were drugged. That doesn't exactly count." 

"I know. But it would count to my aunt. It'd probably count to your friends. It'd count to the newspapers. Right?" 

"You're making a very good argument." Peter brightened a little, then his face fell as Tony continued. "A very good argument for why we shouldn't let this go any further." 

Peter shrugged. "So... what? You go around feeling guilty because you want to fuck me, and I go around wishing you would, and hey, I don't know if you've noticed, but there are already jokes on the internet about you being Spider-Man's sugar daddy, even if they think I'm older than seventeen."

Of course he'd noticed. It was one reason why he kept as much physical distance between him as he could if there were any other people around when Tony accompanied Peter on patrol. 

Tony sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. "Go home, kid," he said. "I can't talk about this any more." 

"Do you want to go out on patrol with me this week? Monday, maybe?" 

_Say no,_ Tony told himself. He'd had that plan to start spending less time with Peter, after all; he could keep doing that. "Yeah, sure," he said, instead. "Three-thirty?" 

"Make it four; I had a dentist appointment last week, and I have to make up a history test." Peter got up, shoving his phone into his pocket and picking up his backpack. "And I'm not done having this conversation," he added, on his way to the front door. 

Of course he wasn't, dammit.

****


	3. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out that two years is the extent of everyone's good intentions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading!

****

It had been easy enough to keep their interactions strictly professional while he was out on patrol with Peter, for which Tony was grateful. He still hadn't decided how he was going to handle this situation. He'd stopped drinking after Peter left on Saturday, but sobriety hadn't done much to clear up his thinking.

He wanted Peter. Peter didn't mind. That ought to make things simple. A few years ago, it probably would have made things simple for him. Peter was legal--in New York, anyway, and it wouldn't be that much of a hardship to pay attention to where they went together until Peter's next birthday. Until Peter finished school, they wouldn't be traveling together much, anyway. 

But Tony was trying to be a better person. He was trying to think about the consequences of his actions, and--there was no way they could be good. Not the consequences to himself; he wasn't breaking any laws, and if he got caught, he could live it down. 

But the consequences to Peter? Not just if they got caught; Tony was more worried that he'd fuck Peter up than that his aunt would find out. (Besides, she'd probably punch Tony in the face, but she wouldn't blame Peter for any of it, which was as it should be.) And Peter Parker was a nonentity as far as the rest of the world was concerned; if Tony swooped in and made it all about him, things would probably be okay for Peter. He'd just be a poor dumb kid who got seduced by some rich creep. 

But being around Tony Stark didn't seem to work out well for most people, and so Tony ought to draw the line somewhere. 

That was the logical view of things. For Peter's sake, Tony ought to tell him that the conversation was at an end, forever. His sick fantasies could stay just that, and Peter could find someone closer to his own age and less of a terrible influence, and in a few months, maybe, things would be back to normal between them. 

But god, Tony was tired. No one ever told him that doing the right thing was so exhausting. So when Peter led the way to a rooftop that allowed for a little privacy and sat down on the edge, Tony just sat down next to him, removing his armor so that Peter could see his face, even if he couldn't see Peter's. 

"This is a bad idea," Tony said, for what felt like the hundredth time. "You know that, right? Not because I'm thirty years older than you are. Because I'm me." 

"Yeah, but I already spend a lot of time with you, and I'm still okay." 

"You're trying to get me to have sex with you. I'm not sure that's anyone's definition of 'okay.'" 

Peter laughed. "It sounds pretty okay to me, Mr. Stark." 

"If we're doing this, you're going to have to start calling me Tony." 

There was a long pause. "Are we going to do this?" 

"We still shouldn't," Tony reminded him. "But it turns out that two years is just about the extent of my self-control." 

"Two years? Really?" Tony couldn't work out whether Peter was pleased or horrified by the idea. 

"Sort of. It started out as 'he'll be really attractive once he grows up.'"

"And then I grew up?" 

Tony couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, and then you grew up. And now, at the advanced age of seventeen, you really want to go through with this? I mean, isn't there some kid your age you'd rather be doing this with?"

"There's really not. Two years is just about the extent of my self-control too, Mr.--Tony." 

Oh, God. He was going to have sex with someone who was too young to feel comfortable calling him by his first name. Not exactly his finest moment, and that was a low bar to clear.

"This is okay, isn't it?" Peter said after a moment. "After what happened, you're not, you know, freaked out at the thought that I might, um. Hurt you like that again?" 

Tony shook his head. "It's not going to go like that again. I'm sure of that." For one thing, Peter's life wouldn't depend on it, so Tony wouldn't feel bad about telling him to stop if necessary. He reached over and put a hand on Peter's shoulder, squeezing lightly. "You know how you keep telling me you trust me not to hurt you? It goes both ways." 

"We can, um." Peter fidgeted with his mask for a moment, pulling it back down to completely cover his face. "It doesn't have to be like that. We don't have to..." He waved his hands in the air helplessly, clearly at a loss for words. 

"You don't have to fuck me," Tony said, bluntly. "Is that what you mean?" 

"Yeah? I guess?" 

Well, now was as good a time as ever, he supposed. "Do you not want to, or do you just think I won't want you to?" 

"The, um. The second one. I know there are other things we can do, and besides, you probably want to be on top, right? I mean, you would. Since you're older, and more experienced, and... stuff." 

Tony had no idea what "stuff" was, except a sign that Peter had no idea how to finish his sentence coherently, but he just shook his head. "Honesty time?" 

"You mean you haven't been honest before now?" 

"No, I have. I just mean that..." Now it was his turn to hesitate and stumble. "I'm not sure how you're going to feel about what I have to say, that's all." 

"Neither am I, because you haven't said it yet." 

"Smart-ass," he said, squeezing Peter's shoulder again, and then moving his hand until it rested lightly on the nape of Peter's neck, finding the tiny sliver of skin where the mask met the rest of his suit. "But you're right, there are other things we can do, and we're almost definitely going to do them, or at least most of them." 

He let his thumb rub against the exposed skin, smiling when Peter shivered and leaned into the touch. "But do you really want to know what I haven't been able to stop thinking about?" 

"Yes?" Peter's voice cracked a little, and Tony smiled again. 

"Us. Like before, but with both of us fully aware of what's going on and in control of our actions. But still, you pushing me down like you did, manhandling me until you've got me just where you want me." 

He should probably be ashamed of himself, but he reminded himself that Peter wanted to hear this. He'd said so, and Tony thought he was old enough to make his own decisions about this. For what it was worth, the state of New York agreed. "After all, it seems like a shame to go to bed with someone with superpowers and not let him use them on you, at least a little." 

"When you put it that way," Peter said, "it makes perfect sense."

"Unless you don't want that," Tony added quickly. 

"I don't want to hurt you," Peter insisted. "Not even--I know people sometimes hurt each other for fun, but I don't think I want to do that either." 

"That's okay," Tony reassured him. "I don't want you to hurt me, either." Tony had tried a lot of things over the years, but pain--giving or receiving--just hadn't had a lot of appeal for him. Bondage, on the other hand... at some point in the future he and Peter were going to have a talk about the recreational application of webshooters, but not today.

"But you can hold me down on the bed without hurting me, right?" he said. "And do things like when you pushed my legs into the right position. That didn't hurt. If I hadn't been so worried about you, it would have been hot." 

Peter didn't answer for a little while, long enough that Tony started to think that he'd pushed things too far, that Peter was a lot less ready for this than he thought he was. But then Peter lifted his head so that he could look Tony in the eye. "Can we have this conversation somewhere else?" 

"Sure." But then, since he couldn't resist teasing Peter just a little--they hadn't been this easy in one another's company in weeks, and he'd missed it--he said, "But I'm not going to talk about sex at Starbucks with Spider-Man, if that's what you were thinking." 

Peter laughed. "Yeah, and then someone would overhear us, and the entire internet would explode with the superhero sex scandal. I don't think so. I meant, your apartment?" Then he looked away again. "Someplace where we could maybe put some of this into practice, once we're done talking." 

Oh. Hell yes, they could move this conversation to his apartment. "Race you," Tony said, scrambling to his feet as his armor re-formed around him.

****

"You did get a head start," Tony said a short while later. Peter had waited until they were inside and settled on the couch--Tony's armor removed, Peter changed back into the clothes he'd worn to school--to start grumbling that their race had been basically unfair.

"Not enough of a head start to balance out how much faster it is to fly," Peter argued. "It's totally not a fair race." 

"You're only saying that because you lost." He grinned at Peter, feeling better than he had in weeks. It wasn't just because of what they were--hopefully--about to do. He still didn't feel great about that. Less guilty than he had been before, because he was going to leave the decisions in Peter's hands, but still not completely sanguine. 

It was because for the first time since that day, conversation with Peter felt natural again. He'd missed that, more than he'd ever expected to.

"I'm only saying it because you cheated," Peter insisted. "Flying is obviously going to be faster than swinging from building to building." 

Tony laughed. "I'm not sure how we could make it a fair race," he pointed out. "I can't swing on webs, you can't fly, and I'm not running all the way back here from Queens." 

Peter considered for a minute. "You might have a point, but you still don't get to claim that you won when it wasn't a fair race." 

"Oh, that's not why I think I won," Tony said, leaning in a little closer and cupping Peter's cheek in one palm. 

Peter ducked his head a little, cheeks turning pink, and Tony hesitated. "This is still all right with you?" 

"Yes!" Peter practically shouted. Then, in a more normal tone of voice, "Yes. It's totally all right. It's just... I don't know. New? Awkward? I don't know what I should be doing." 

"Right now? Anything you want," Tony said. "But if that's too overwhelming, we hadn't finished our conversation, so how about we talk for a while?" 

"Right, talking," Peter echoed. "Talking is good." He took a deep breath, and Tony watched as he squared his shoulders and looked up at him. "And you were telling me that you wanted me to..." 

Another pause. Tony was about to tell Peter that if he couldn't say it, maybe he wasn't ready to do it, when Peter found the words. "You want me to be on top. And to--I don't know how to put it, but to be stronger than you?"

Tony nodded. "To make it obvious that you're stronger than me. Not to hurt me," he reassured Peter. "We've both made it clear that's not what we want." Then he paused. "But the rest of it. Does that appeal to you at all, or...?" 

Quickly, because he didn't want Peter to suddenly feel like saying "no" would put an end to the whole thing, he added, "And if it doesn't, I'd be happy to hear what does." 

Peter grinned. "Everything? I mean, I don't know, I'm seventeen, it all sounds pretty good." Then it was his turn to pause and think. "I guess that's not true, since I know some things I don't want to do, but... we can try that." His smile broadened. "Can we try it _today_?"

Tony laughed. "Sure you don't want to work up to it?" 

"Maybe a little, but since we already did the terrible nightmare version of it, I think I'd kind of like to... fix it. If that makes sense." 

Tony nodded. "It does." The same way all of his fantasies since then had been "fixing" what had happened between them, making it less disturbing for them both. 

"But maybe we should start with something a little less ambitious. I haven't even kissed you yet."

"So why aren't you, Mi--" Peter caught himself, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry. Habit." He took a breath and tried again. "So why aren't you kissing me, Tony?" His cheeks were pink, but he was able to look Tony straight in the eye. 

"Because I've been terribly slack, apparently," Tony said, leaning forward again so that he could kiss Peter. 

Peter kissed with all the enthusiasm of a seventeen-year-old virgin (the other day, Tony thought again, did _not_ count; he still had the chance to make Peter's first time a good one). He kissed with all the finesse of one, too, but that was nothing Tony couldn't deal with; he rested a hand on the nape of Peter's neck, holding him still as Tony coaxed him into yielding, to letting Tony set the pace of the kiss, slow and deep and gentle, because Tony was going to take his time with Peter. 

Peter was worth taking his time over. The way he melted against Tony as they kissed, the soft little gasps of surprise and arousal as Tony leisurely explored Peter's mouth--they were all worth savoring. When he finally broke the kiss, Peter's hands came up to clutch at Tony's shirt, pulling him closer again, kissing him again; harder and less awkwardly than before. 

Tony was perfectly content to keep kissing Peter, He'd have been all right if they'd done nothing else until Peter had to go home, because now that he was certain that this was really happening, he could wait for as long as Peter needed to. 

But when Peter's hands began roaming over his body--first caressing his chest and stomach, then sliding further down, hesitantly, until his palm was resting over Tony's cock--he certainly wasn't going to object. 

"You really do want this," Peter said, sounding absurdly smug as he rubbed his hand over Tony's erection. 

"Did you think I'd have suggested it if I didn't?" Tony asked, shifting forward a little to press against Peter's hand. 

"No," Peter admitted, "but after last time--you weren't--" Peter trailed off, whether from normal embarrassment or unpleasant memories, Tony wasn't sure. 

"Last time," Tony said, "I was much too worried about your safety to be able to enjoy myself." He didn't think it was necessary to mention that physical discomfort, not to mention concern for his own safety, had played a part as well. Peter felt bad enough already, and it wasn't something that Tony needed to remind him of, now, or ever. 

"This time," he went on, "I plan on enjoying myself very much." He kissed Peter again, pleased that Peter didn't move his hand away; in fact, as they continued to kiss, Peter became a little bolder in his explorations. 

"Even though I don't know what I'm doing?" Peter said. "I probably won't be very good." 

He laughed. "That's where I come in," he explained. "I do know what I'm doing, and what you need to be doing."

"And you'll tell me?" 

"Oh, absolutely." He suspected the grin he gave Peter had turned out rather wolfish. "I'm going to enjoy that, too." 

"So am I doing what I need to be doing?" 

"You're not doing anything wrong, if that's what you mean. And we can stay here as long as you want, or we could move this into my bedroom." 

Peter laughed. "That's not rushing things? I don't want to seem like I'm way too eager or anything." 

"No such thing," Tony informed him. "Eager is great." 

He didn't know how he expected Peter to respond to that, but he was damn sure it wasn't by getting to his feet and literally slinging Tony over his shoulder.

"Caveman is also not a bad plan," Tony said, laughing. 

"You said you liked that I was stronger than you," Peter pointed out, heading toward the short hallway. "Your room's on the left, yeah? I know I was here before, but I was really distracted."

"Yeah, that's the one." He was still laughing; this was so damn ridiculous, being carried around like he weighed absolutely nothing, by a partner who, on the surface, looked like the twinkiest twink in the history of only-somewhat-legal twinks. A partner who didn't even seem to notice that Tony weighed anything at all. 

Had he said "ridiculous"? Ridiculously hot, maybe. Or ridiculous and hot; that was another possibility, because Peter was laughing too as he opened the bedroom door and strode over to the bed, depositing Tony on his back. 

Oh, yeah. He did love that Peter could do that with him. Tony sprawled on the bed, unbuttoning his shirt as he looked up at Peter. "So you've got me here now," he said. "Got any plans for what you want to do with me, Captain Caveman?"

Peter nodded, shrugging a little. "A few," he admitted. "But I kind of miscalculated. You've got too many clothes on for most of them." 

"That can be taken care of," Tony said. He raised up on his elbows, his shirt hanging open. "Though you're overdressed as well, aren't you?"

"Maybe we should do something to fix both problems?" Peter pulled his t-shirt over his head, and Tony smiled. One day, they'd take their time. One day, he'd undress Peter slowly, kissing every inch of skin as he exposed it. 

Today, though, there was something to be said for just getting on with it before Peter overthought things and got too nervous. Tony got back up for a minute, just long enough to undress, and then to kiss Peter quickly before lying back down. 

He'd known what Peter looked like naked; of course, after that evening a few weeks ago. But this time, there was nothing to distract Tony from looking his fill; Peter wasn't feverish and frantic, just a little flushed, shifting from one foot to the other awkwardly. And he was beautiful: smooth skin and lean muscles and wide, bright eyes, everything Tony had been wanting for so long and never thought he could let himself have. 

Peter seemed to have the same idea; at least, he seemed content to stand there for a moment, looking Tony up and down, grinning goofily at him. 

"You okay there?"

Peter nodded. "I'm good. Just convincing myself that this is really happening."

"Well, it's not happening right now," Tony said in mock complaint. "Maybe you should come here and do something about that?" He held out a hand toward Peter, and Peter took it, letting Tony pull him over onto the bed. 

"Do you want to--I'm not sure what I should be doing," he confessed, and Tony had to kiss him again. 

"Right now? I think you should just come here." He pulled Peter closer, running his hand along Peter's back, tracing his spine. They were on their sides, lying face to face, and Peter slid even closer to him, pressing himself against Tony so that he could feel Peter's erection against his stomach. 

If he remembered being seventeen accurately, Peter wasn't going to last very long--not in general compared to someone thirty years older and much more experienced at self-control, but definitely not at all just now. He pulled far enough back that he could get a hand in between their bodies, wrapping it around Peter's cock. 

Peter gasped, thrusting involuntarily into Tony's hand. "I thought we were going to have sex," he protested, though it sounded half-hearted. 

"This is sex," Tony reminded him. "But also, yes, I still want you to fuck me--" He had to pause then in appreciation of the way Peter closed his eyes and whimpered at the thought. "--but I don't want it to be over in about forty-five seconds flat. You can get hard again pretty soon, right?" 

Peter nodded, ducking his head in embarrassment. 

"Hey, none of that, I was your age once."

That seemed to make Peter feel better; he looked up at Tony with an impish grin and said, "Yeah, but that was so long ago that I wasn't sure if you could remember back that far." 

"You're going to learn to appreciate age and experience," he said, beginning to stroke Peter's cock, dragging his thumb over the head to hear Peter whimper again. He kissed Peter, and then, with his mouth still only a centimeter or so from Peter's, said, "Or at least, you're going to learn to appreciate the fact that this old man is going to make you come." 

" _Please_ ," Peter gasped, and Tony increased the pace, twisting his wrist a little every few strokes, feeling Peter's hips buck as he fucked Tony's fist with increasing fervor.

He'd been right; it didn't take long at all before Peter was clutching at his shoulders, holding him tight while he shuddered and came into Tony's hand. 

Tony put his arm around Peter, holding him tight as his breathing slowed. He wiped his hand on the sheets--they were going to make a mess of the bed, but that was fine; it wasn't like Tony didn't have other sheets to put on when he was ready to go to sleep--and kissed Peter: on his hair, on his forehead, on his eyelids, on his cheeks; the kisses soft and fond and, possibly, just a little pathetic. 

It wasn't a good idea, he reminded himself, to get too attached. Peter wanted this, so it could happen, but Peter was going to fall for someone one day, someone around his own age, someone he could be with in public as well as behind closed doors. 

But while he had this, he decided, he was going to let himself _have_ it, not hold back just because he might look like an idiot later. He'd never let the fear of looking like an idiot stop him before now, after all. 

Peter looked up at him, smiling hazily. "Okay, you're right, I appreciated that a lot." He squirmed closer to Tony again, throwing his arm across Tony's chest. "Any suggestions for how I can thank you for it?" 

He laughed. "You're going to be doing that soon enough," he said. "And unlike you, I'm not going to be ready to go again in just a few minutes, so there's a limit to how enthusiastically you can show your appreciation." 

Then again, he realized, there was something they could be doing right now that didn't require Peter to be hard yet. "But if you still want to fuck me in a little while, we can be getting me ready for that." 

Peter hesitated. "Are you going to tell me what to do? I'm pretty sure I know the basics, but... you know. 'We need lube' isn't enough of a description for me to feel like I know what I'm doing." 

"It's a good start, though." Tony rolled away from him, fumbling in the nightstand for the bottle of lube, then pausing. "We've already had sex without a condom," he said, "and my last blood test was three months ago. I'll show you the results if you want. But it's up to you. It's still probably a good idea." 

Peter shook his head. "I don't think I can get sick," he said. "Everybody at Lisa Kaplan's birthday party got food poisoning from her mom's cooking, except me. And I don't get colds. Nothing, since the bite. But if _you_ want to be careful..." 

"When am I ever careful?" Tony said. "Besides, I'm the only person you've ever had sex with, and you probably can't spread diseases, either." They really ought to test that somehow, but Bruce was better with medical stuff than Tony was, and Bruce was...away, because Tony refused to think "gone." "Gone" was one step away from "dead," and Tony wasn't losing more friends. 

"Okay, then," Peter said. "No condom." 

Tony had a brief flash of doubt; maybe he ought to be more responsible? Maybe he should insist? But responsibility had never been one of his strengths, after all, and the logic was sound. He got checked every six months when he got a physical, he hadn't had sex with anyone else since his last blood test, and he was confident Peter wasn't carrying anything. 

He tossed Peter the bottle of lube. "Then you'll just need this." He grabbed a pillow from the other side of the bed. "And this." He lay down on his back again, in the middle of the bed. "Put the pillow under my hips, okay?" Tony raised up so that Peter could get the pillow in place.

"I remember that from last time, yeah."

"It'll work without the pillow," Tony said, "but it does make things more comfortable." Then he bent his knees, pulling his legs up to expose himself to Peter. "Feel free to push me around a little if you need to," he said, grinning. 

"I will," Peter agreed. "What do I do now?" 

"Get some lube on your fingers. Warm it up a little with your hands, too--it can be kind of cold if you don't." 

Peter complied. When he held his hand out for Tony's inspection, he'd definitely erred on the side of caution, his fingers slick and dripping with the gel. 

"That's good," Tony said. "Maybe a little more than you really needed, but that won't hurt anything."

Peter didn't wait for Tony's next instruction; he slid his finger between Tony's cheeks, rubbing it over Tony's hole. "Is this okay?" he asked, when Tony shivered. 

"Yeah," Tony said, because shit, how was this so hot? He thought of himself as pretty damn jaded, and yet, something that simple was having one hell of an effect on him. 

Though it wasn't just Peter's actions that were having the effect. It was the fact that it was Peter, that Peter was expecting Tony to guide him through this, the way he did with new upgrades to the suit.

"Yeah," he repeated, his voice a little steadier. "Just keep doing that for a while; it's good. When you're ready, you can try pushing your finger inside. Just a little way at first, though, okay?" 

Tony had seen Peter's look of intense concentration before, when they'd been in the lab; he'd often wondered what it would look like when Peter was concentrating on him. The answer was, gorgeous. Perfect. Peter caught his lower lip between his teeth, worrying it slightly as he moved his finger in slow circles, tracing the tight ring of muscle until Tony could feel himself starting to relax. 

"That's perfect," he said. He raised his hips slightly, urging Peter on. "I'm ready for more, whenever you are." And then Peter's finger pressed into him--just barely, only a fingertip inside him. He gasped, starting to push back against the finger, hoping for more, and Peter stilled. 

"Did I hurt you?"

Tony shook his head quickly. "No," he said. "Definitely not. Keep going."

Peter chewed at his lip again, then thrust in a little further, far enough in that Tony could feel the burn and stretch as his body adjusted to the intrusion. The time with Peter aside, it had been a long time since Tony had done anything like this, even on his own; he knew what he liked and he knew he was going to enjoy it, but going slowly wasn't a bad idea. 

Not to mention that Peter's slow caution was exactly what they both needed, Tony thought, to banish the memories of the last time. "Okay," Tony said, "Just stay like that for a second."

Peter did, leaning down to kiss Tony. Tony kissed him back, giving into the temptation to nip at Peter's bottom lip, already reddened from Peter's nervous gesture. "You're doing great," Tony encouraged him. "You can keep going now," he added, taking a deep breath. "Just keep moving your finger in and out. I'll tell you if I need you to stop." 

Peter nodded, and began to move, slowly, carefully; pulling his finger nearly all the way out of Tony, and then pushing in again, as deep as he could. 

"Oh, fuck," Tony groaned, arching his back. 

Peter beamed. "Am I doing it right?" 

He grinned back at Peter. "You're perfect. Think you can give me another finger?"

Peter didn't reply, but when he pushed into Tony again, it was with two fingers, the added thickness making Tony groan. 

"I'm not even going to ask if I'm doing it right this time," Peter said. "I can tell." He brought his other hand up, trailing a finger along the length of Tony's cock. He'd been half-hard since they'd been kissing on the couch, but now he was fully erect, aching, pushing back desperately in an attempt to get Peter to fuck him harder.

"Yeah, that's-- fuck, Peter, just keep going. Feel how I'm opening up for you? I'm going to be ready for your cock soon." 

Peter whimpered; he stopped touching Tony's cock, gripping his own tightly instead, his eyes closed. As Tony had anticipated, he was already hard again, and Tony decided that while he could probably use a little more preparation, he'd be fine if Peter went slowly. And making Peter wait much longer was just going to be frustrating for both of them. 

"Soon?" Peter echoed, and Tony laughed. 

"Is now soon enough for you?" 

"Maybe. Kind of," Peter said, his grin a little embarrassed-looking. 

"Okay, then. You're going to have to go slow at first; can you do that?" At Peter's nod, he said, "Would you admit it if you couldn't?" 

Peter actually laughed. "I promise, I would. I just--god, this feels so good. Making you sound like that? I didn't know I could do that." 

"Let's see what else you can do," Tony said. "Get yourself ready, the same way you did with your fingers." 

He nodded and scrabbled on the bed for the discarded bottle of lube. Tony lay back against the pillows, breathing hard, watching Peter as he slicked himself up. "Jesus, you're hot," he murmured. He hadn't intended to say it aloud, but Peter's startled grin made him glad he had. 

"I'm not, really," Peter mumbled. "I'm not ugly or anything, but I'm just...me."

"Let me be the judge of that," he said. "'Just you' is more than hot enough for me." 

And now Peter was kneeling between Tony's legs, shoving them a little further apart so that he could settle himself comfortably. "Slow again, like with my finger?" 

"See, you've got the hang of it already," Tony said cheerfully. "I knew you'd be a natural." 

Peter was still laughing at him when the head of his cock pushed against Tony's hole, the head slipping past the ring of muscle. "Oh," he said, so softly that Tony thought it might have just been an exhalation. "Oh, god." 

"Good?" Tony asked, knowing the answer. "You can keep going whenever you're ready." 

"Yeah, it's good," Peter said. "I--oh," he repeated, pushing in a little further, while Tony raised his hips to urge him on. 

"Just keep going slowly until you're all the way in," Tony said. Peter's cock was on the smaller size of average, but that was big enough to leave Tony feeling full, stretched open, his muscles resisting the invasion until Tony forced himself to relax. It wasn't painful; he was just very aware of it, and he groaned, hitching his knees up further--yeah, yoga was definitely going to need to be a thing in his life if he was going to keep getting fucked by a teenager, and God, he hoped he was--to make things easier for Peter. 

When Peter stopped moving, Tony took a few deep breaths, waiting until the discomfort faded and the only thing left was the aching need for more. "Ready?"

There was sweat beading Peter's forehead, his muscles trembling from the attempt to keep still. "So much more than ready."

"Then fuck me," Tony urged him. "I'll tell you if I need you to stop again."

Peter moaned and pulled almost all the way out of Tony, snapping his hips forward to plunge deep into him again.

Tony wasn't directing Peter now; Peter's own instincts seemed good enough. But he definitely wanted to keep encouraging him, so he made sure to vocalize every time Peter thrust into him, to rise up to meet Peter's thrusts. Then Peter shifted position slightly, the head of his cock making contact with Tony's prostate, and Tony arched his back and groaned. 

"Oh, fuck, kid, do that again." 

Peter seemed happy to oblige him, and Tony cried out again, his hands twisting in the sheet underneath him. 

Peter wrapped his hand around Tony's cock. "Can I?" 

"God, yes."

Peter's hand began moving--not quite gripping him hard enough, but that was okay; Tony wanted to hold out until Peter came, anyway. And that couldn't be much longer, because Peter was thrusting into him hard and fast now, the rhythm and angle not exactly perfect but still so very good.

Then Peter's hand tightened on Tony's cock as Peter himself stilled, tensing up and then coming with an almost silent gasp. It took a few seconds before his hand started moving again, pumping Tony urgently; Tony wasn't quite sure, but he thought he heard Peter saying, "Please, oh, please," his words barely louder than his breathing. 

"God, Peter." Tony arched up again, pulling Peter down into a frantic kiss as he came. 

The only word to describe Peter's grin was "smug," Tony decided, as Peter pulled out of him and flopped beside him on the bed. 

"That was amazing," Peter said. "Like, it's probably a really good thing that I can't tell anybody at school, because I don't think Ned and MJ would put up with me telling them over and over again how amazing it was." 

Tony laughed. "You can tell me it was amazing all you want."

"I mean, was it? Amazing, I mean. For you." 

Tony had had better sex. He'd had worse sex, too, and he wasn't counting the first time with Peter. But this wasn't just sex, this was sex with Peter, and quite apart from how much Tony wanted to keep doing this, he was--well, he could bring himself to admit that he was very, very fond of Peter. He wasn't quite ready to call it anything else. 

"Yeah," he agreed. "That was fantastic." He turned onto his side so that he could kiss Peter some more. 

"Does that mean you want to do it again?" 

"Not this minute," Tony said, laughing. "But yeah. Whenever we can." 

Peter sighed. "I shouldn't be glad I got hit with that pollen stuff, should I? I mean, it was pretty awful, and I know I could have died, but--you weren't going to say anything, were you? Ever? You were just going to let me go around with my huge crush on you, and not tell me anything." 

Tony sighed. "I think I would have said something, eventually." Once Peter was out of college, he'd been telling himself, so probably five more years. If things hadn't changed between them, he'd have said something to Peter then. 

"You can just tell me I'm right. It's not going to kill you." 

Tony decided instead to get to the point of what Peter had been saying. "I can't say I'm glad. Your life was in danger, and that's definitely not the way I wanted things to happen between us. But it did force the issue, anyway." 

"Yeah, exactly." There was another long silence, long enough that Tony started to wonder if Peter had fallen asleep. He should probably wake him up and send him home before his aunt started to worry about him. 

He was just about to shake Peter's shoulder when Peter spoke again. "This isn't going to be easy at all, is it." 

"No," Tony admitted. "You'd probably be better off trying to find someone your age you're interested in." 

"I don't want to," he said. "I like this. It's just going to be hard." Then he brightened a little. "But I'm good at keeping things secret," he said. "Look at Spider-Man. And we have lots of reasons for spending time together. We already do spend a lot of time together. So--we'll manage?" 

_Probably not,_ Tony thought. They'd get caught, or Peter would get sick of him--Tony knew damn well he wasn't an easy person to be with, even under ideal circumstances--or something would happen to bring this to an end. Something always did. 

But what would be the use of telling Peter that? Neither of them wanted to put an end to this now. Why not let Peter have his optimism. "Yeah, kid. We'll make it work," Tony promised. 

"I should go," Peter said, but instead of getting up, he curled up closer to Tony's side. 

Tony should have encouraged him to go, he knew that, but instead he put his arm around Peter. Just for right now, he told himself, it was okay to pretend that this was going to all work out. 

Just for right now, he was going to let himself believe that somehow, they would. It wouldn't change the ending, but maybe it'd make it easier for him to enjoy this while it lasted. 

And who knew? He was sure Peter would thoroughly enjoy proving all his doubts about this wrong, and he was equally sure that he was going to be happy to let Peter try.

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try not to disappear for a whole year this time! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Readers, kudosers, and commenters are all loved dearly. Concrit is fine. Toxic anti bullshit is not.


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